


Children of the Night

by ruric



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the film quote prompt over at <a href="http://www.fic_promptly.dreamwidth.org">fic_promptly</a>. <a href="http://kayim.dreamwidth.org">kayim</a> wanted this Dracula quote: "Listen to them. Children of the night. What music they make."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children of the Night

"Does anyone else think this is getting really old?" Stiles asks as he's sent sprawling, Derek's hand firmly planted between his shoulders pressing him down.

Of course, this being Derek's house, the floor isn't exactly clean and Stiles inhales a lungful of dust and grime. He spends the next couple of minutes trying not to choke and to survive what passes for gentle patting in Derek's world.

"OK, stop, stop," he tries to slither sideways but Derek's fingers fist in the back of his shirt stopping him short and the material digs into the front of his neck. "No more helping," he gasps past the restriction because strangling to death at the hands of an over-protective alpha is not much improvement on choking on god knows what. "Wanna keep my ribs whole. See? Not choking now!"

It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't seen the slight twitch of Jackon's lips. Jackson who's looking a foot or so above above Stiles's shoulder which is where Derek's face must be. He just knows Derek's rolling his eyes and mouthing something unflattering but only loud enough to register at freaky werewolf levels of hearing.

"Going high, see if I can get a clear shot." 

Alison tucks her bow over her shoulder and scrambles for the stairs and Scott follows, a living shield between her and the door.

"They've got the back covered too," Isaac yells from the kitchen. 

Proto-kitchen, Stiles thinks, would be more accurate. Derek and Peter may have started renovations but things are moving at a glacial pace even though Lydia has mood boards, sample books and swatches of material stacked in every available room. Oh my god why is he thinking about the kitchen and renovations when they're under siege. And why does Isaac sound positively gleeful? The only problem when half your friends are werewolves or hunters is that no-one has a working flight reflex. They're all always about the fight and never about the flight.

"Does he realize his internal stream of consciousness isn’t in any way _internal_?" 

Peter's eyes crinkle as he smirks over towards them, lips drawing back from his teeth in a feral grin. He shoves at a crate with one hand, a crate Stiles knows he can't move with his whole body, because he tried earlier. Peter's claws extend and pull. Oh hey…

"Hey Derek, why is there a trapdoor in your living room? Is it a cellar? Or a secret passage? Where does it go? Can we..."

"Shut _up_ , Stiles."

Derek's curled over him, which puts his mouth an inch short of Stiles ear, and his breath gusts against Stiles's skin, sending a shiver down his spine and hey would you look at that? Teenage hormones kick-in and his body abandons all attempts at a flight reflex for something a whole lot different and really...awkward.

Peter's pulling guns out from whatever is beneath the secret door that Stiles didn't know about. and there will be words about that, when they're not surrounded by a howling pack of what sounds like pretty pissed off wolves.

Stiles looks up and meets Peter's gaze as he throws a shotgun towards Jackson.

"Can I have one?"

"Can you use one?" Peter raises a brow and looks dubious.

"Sheriff's kid," Stiles grunts as Derek half-pulls, half-drags him back towards where Peter is. "Don't be more of a dick than you already are."

Derek yanks Stiles half upright, and shoves him back into a wall. You don't get a much better human shield than an alpha. Stiles is grateful and all but he's reaching around Derek, fingers making 'gimme' motions and Peter slaps another shotgun into his hands and skids a box of shells across the floor to him.

"No kill shots and none of the wolfsbane bullets," Derek growls and Peter looks almost disappointed.

They're already established it's a small pack looking for an easy take over. All they need to do is put down any attack with enough force that word gets around. 

Erica slithers into the room low to the ground and half wolfed out already. Stiles knows Boyd is out in the hall, keeping a watch on the front.

"What now?" Stiles asks because it's gone eerily quiet.

"We wait for them to come to us, no point in taking any risks." Derek's looking at each of the wolves in turn.

Stiles is really glad Lydia had dragged Danny off on another shopping trip. He may not have freaky werewolf senses but even a puny human can sense the level of anticipation in the room. Werewolves, freaking adrenalin junkies from the tips of their cold, wet noses to the ends of their little bushy tails. 

There's one of _those_ moments when Stiles is conscious that every eye on the room is fixed on him and the silence stretches. He rewinds and realizes his last thought came out of his mouth.

"Sorry," he shrugs, "but you all know it's true."

A long high howl from the front of the house breaks the tension, it rings true for a minute and then the rest join in, a chorus of ululations that makes Stiles's skin goose.

"Listen to zem. Children of zee night. Vat music zey make." Stiles is aiming for some kind of heavy Balkan accent and knows he's missing by a mile.

Erica cracks up, smothering little yips of laughter into her arm, Jackson rolls his eyes hard and Peter sighs and shakes his head.

Derek's giving him the frowny-face, eyebrows forming an angry V.

"Oh come _on_ ," Stiles says, "even you must've seen Dracula!"

He's spared any retort by an alarmingly loud crash against the door. He brings the gun up to brace against his shoulder and the wolves scatter.

It's _on_.


End file.
